Hero of Ferelden
by GreyWardenOrigins
Summary: Ten years had given them enough time to lick their wounds and rebuild their towers, it had given Leliana enough time to burry her grief under the facade of spy master. Just an idea bouncing around my head while playing Inquisition. Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. One shot.


The Harold's question caught Liliana off guard. It had been some time since she heard talk of the Wardens final battle; ten years was time enough for Ferelden to grow forgetful of the blight that nearly ended the great nation.

Ten years had given them enough time to lick their wounds and rebuild their towers, it had given Leliana enough time to burry her grief under the facade of spy master.

Denerim was a wasteland by the time they engaged the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon, tainted blood ran freely through the streets. Mixing with the blood of those unlucky enough to flee the initial invasion. It reminded Leliana of the pictures her mind painted while hearing the tales of Andraste and the Maker.

The fight was coming to an end, ballads had always made great battles seem more climatic. Leliana could not remember hitting the peak of the story It all seemed flat, like a bard with no tune was the narrator. The Archdemon struggled like a worm on a hook. She found herself questioning how she once feared such a pathetic creature. Flemeth seemed more a challenge than the infamous Archdemon.

Her companions were in the same shape as the tower crumbling around them. Broken and bloody Alistair, the boy that had grown into a king, struggled to hold onto the hilt of his sword. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip, meeting every Darkspawn with the pointy end of his sword.

Zevran hid his wounds far better than the young king, but Leliana caught a wince when he pulled his dagger out of a Darkspawns throat. He faught bravely in that battle. She was grateful he had decided to turn his back on the Crows, as deadly as that decision may be.

The Warden, Feynhel, couldn't hide her wounds. Her shield arm lie at her side, twisted unnaturally. Blood ran from a slash on her cheek, but she battled on. Cutting down Darkspawn with the same amount of anger she had used to slay Marjoline. In truth the anger behind Fey's swings frightened Leliana, they were the swings of a warrior with nothing left to lose.

The Blight had backed her Warden into a corner, taken her clan and killed Tamlin. It threatened everything she held dear in this world, but the Warden faught back. Destroyed countless hordes of the tainted beasts, reunited Ferelden with the death of Logain...and now here she stood, leading Ferelden to victory.

Why had she ever feared the blight? One woman had lead them to victory, had turned the tide of battle with her presence alone. One woman had lead her from the darkness that settled in her heart years prior, Fey, had saved her from herself. Why did she ever fear blight?

Feynhel answered her question, she feared the blight because it was the bringer of ends. She had seen it in her dream, the way the darkness had twisted the rose bush and corrupted everything it touched.

With a heavy sigh her Warden uttered "Ir abelas". It was a familiar phrase that had never felt more foreign to her ears as she watched the bloodied Warden charge the dying Archdemon.

There was a brilliant light as the soul of the tainted creature was realised from its rotting body. Leliana never took her eyes off the Warden, watching helplessly as the woman she loved turned limp and took her last ragged breath.

Her suffering was over, she mourned for her clan no more. Mourned for Tamlin no longer. She no longer mourned the loss of her parents and adopted mother. Instead she left Leliana alone to suffer. To suffer the death of the only person that had ever loved her. The only person that had seen she was worth more than a pawn. The only person that valued her in a way the Maker never would.

Why had she feared the blight? She looked into the dead eyes of her lover. The spark she saw so many times was gone. She would never again see her Wardens face light up at the discovery of a new tome. Or the way she turned her nose up to the burnt stew Alistar tried to pass off as food.

Leliana would never hear her laugh again, never see the dashing smile or the awkward way she interacted withing a human city. It was all gone, all the Warden had given her was gone. The comfor: the peace, the undeniable love, it was all gone.

It was all gone and she felt hollow, the same way she felt after Marjoline abandoned her to the brutality of the guards. At least then she felt the hot embers of hatred. As she gripped the lifeless body of her greatest friend, she felt nothing. Just a crushing emptyness.

The Harold stood in front of her, waiting patiently for an answer. How could she claim to have known the Hero of Ferelden? The Fey she knew...thought she knew, wouldnt have abandoned her. She didnt know the Hero of Ferelden at all.


End file.
